The bands will not be playing either shows, and I'm pretty disappointed.

Way to go effort.

I need a vacation right quick

It's warm from the window that is supposed to supply a breeze to my room, the only window with

a screen in it. I try to look out on the street, but there isn't much there. The construction on our curb has left debris and broken balloons from the block-party scheduled "just in time" as well as a three-foot pile of gravel for use later. No one is out, moving down the torn up sidewalk or street. The odd insect that lives right outside and the faint roar of traffic from the highway are my only background. An ambient, half white noise wave that keeps me awake.

My truck looks lonely parked across the street in the cul-de-sac. Teetering over the four-inch gap

of curb and street. I'm not entirely sure when they'll finish construction. With the date of completion left blank on the orange sheets of paper left on our doors, "weather permitting" written instead. We're not sure if our mail will be delivered any more. After talking to the mailman yesterday my dad tells me that he should because he wouldn't have to overextend his arm to reach the box, while other house may have to go to the post office to pick up theirs. He tells me that they have a clause in their union rules about the extension of their arm, and that they don't have to get out of their "cars". I hope it's called the "Neither rain, sleet, hail or snow will keep the mailperson from their route"...except if he/she has to extend their arm more than three feet, then you're screwed.

I'm reminded that not one block over mail is delivered on foot due to a lack of mailboxes on the

street. Wouldn't it be just as feasible for them to do the same on our street? Probably. But they won't, and I'll have to drive out to the post office, not sure which one, to pick up the stack of coupons and bills while my parents are on their twenty-fifth anniversary cruise to the Caribbean; they left this morning.

Anti-climactic.

You'd think with the house to ourselves, my sister's and I, we would do something interesting, but I'll probably end up posting on here a lot more often and wasting time playing Zelda or Boom, this new game I downloaded. We'll see.

Has anyone else noticed that the characatures in the Wall Street Journal always look so overly

flattering. I mean, Donald Trump looks like he has human hair.

And that's all for me today.

Woo.

Things have been made poopy

For the past three weeks I've worked to book a two to three day stint for Long Distance Runner

and Knuckleduster. The came about after I had booked about two weeks worth of shows and Knuckleduster's bassist, Brian, told me he was going to Thailand to kick box for most of the month. I dropped those dates and concentrated on however many shows I could get; which, ended up being three then down to two. Currently those dates are in Bellville, IL, outside St. Louis, and Columbia, MO, a college town. The shows should be really great seeing as how the bands they will be playing with are popular in their areas and there hasn't been many good shows in the area for quite some time. The areas are unsaturated, cracked and dying for some shows. This was my plan, see. I booked the shows and sent out the information, al biet later -- it took a while to get all the finalized information --than I had anticipated, to the bands to prepare for the shows.

Interestingly enough, last night I received a phone call from Rusty, Knuckleduster's singer, while

playing Scrabble with Greg, Patrick and his girlfriend, Samantha about the shows. He didn't sound too happy. Neither did I by the end of the conversation. He told me that there was a joke going around that Brian may not be returning from Thailand; opting to stay in the country to teach kickboxing and learn some more technique. Turns out, the joke wasn't so much the funny kind of joke, more ironic and infuriating, and he told Rusty that unless the bands gets a 'fire under their ass' (paraphrased) he's going to stay out there. Interestingly enough, Brian was the reason the band hadn't been able to play shows and go on tour. The kid was still in school and was waiting to graduate, and we were waiting for him to graduate. So, this leaves Rusty stuck in a band that does nothing while he and I, not getting paid a single penny for the work I contribute, worked our butts off to send out press kits and CDs to labels, bands and friends of bands and labels. Fire under their ass indeed. Sounds more like Brian and the rest of Knuckleduster are the grill to Rusty's hamburger patty. Did I mention that I was hungry?

Basically, this leaves me stuck. One of my prime investments is probably going to break up and

their singer, Rusty, will probably end up moving to California to live and work with Matt Skiba, damn him. Where does this leave me in all of this? POOR!#$!

It is also interesting to note that I haven't made much more than a few cents from booking shows

for this band since I started working with them. So, I guess it’s my own fault, and I'm made at myself for not jumping ship earlier. Now I'm stuck with a Rusty burger, and that doesn't sound too appetizing. Does it?

I’ll edit this later to make it more coherent. This was more of an anger post than anything else, and it will remain that until I shift some words and some paradigms and revolutionize outside the box.

I have followed through on making that site. You can view it here. Its not much, but then again,

neither am I.

So, I'm thinking about creating a site called 'Wildly Pump Your Hands in the Air' and display odd

pictures of people doing so. Hmmmm.

The headline says it all

I found this as a headline on CNN.com and could not contain my laughter.  Enjoy.

Today has become a very mellow music day while a very moist weather day. My t-shirt sticks to

my lower back and pants sweat-stuck to my legs. Not the most comfortable position to be in, but I really can't complain too much. Slows breathing down and heartrates while increasing stress though; mechanical stress and otherwise. The A/C struggles to stay alive as I pull-and-push my shirt again hoping for ventilation. The sky looks bad. Like me sitting here reading what I'm writing, disappointed at how much I've lost over the last three years. I used to be able to write -- dodging cliches and implimenting proper grammar -- for hours, now it looks like I'm a first year. Perhaps I just need to read more or write more or eliviate all the encumbering parts of life as of late. The speeding tickets, my deploma, and the job I lost without doing anything wrong. Today I seem to have called the question though. Put an end to all this rubish and rummaging through the day like a poor man. I wasn't built to rummage after all. All those things just need to be taken care of, simple as that.

As I look out the window again it seems that a new issue has presented itself, but I can't dwell on

it as I've done the other things. Let the storm pass, protect the house, the loose papers blown about the interior. I've begun to wonder about the amount of insurance we have on this two room, green eighties-matted carpet apartment, however. If the storm does hit us, shattering glass and the TVs we bought with our own money, will we be reimbursed? Will this add to the list of debt and costs? Hopefully not. By then, I hope that all those other problems will have been worked out; because, I'm tired of looking at them.

Put your hands over your hearts people!

Note: The following post is of a political nature, and contains multiple vulgarities. Viewer descretion is advised.

Cheney F-bombs Leahy:

So much for elevating the level of political discourse. The vice president of the United States ended

a frank exchange today on the hallowed floor of the U.S. Senate with Patrick Leahy, the solon from Vermont, with these memorable words: "Fuck you."

At least that's the way some news outlets reported it. According to a DNC press release, Vice

President Cheney actually suggested something anatomically more strenuous: "Go fuck yourself."

The Associated Press reported that Cheney either said "Fuck off" or "Fuck you."

Whatever the vice president said, it sure didn't have the ring of "returning honor and dignity to

the White House."

Read the whole article here

Just thought you might enjoy this, if you haven't already seen it. To purchase, go here.

I love that the "action-figure" looks really concerned; that 'in constant thought' look. Like the face

he made in that classroom the day the second plane hit the Trade Center Towers.

I wonder what that action figure is thinking right now. Hmmm.